The Sailor and the Sea
by Miss Yoga
Summary: There is something most do not know about Jacob, but a look into his thoughts will reveal an interesting secret.  Jacob/Kate.
1. Canvas

**Ch. 1**

His name is Jacob.

He talks to the sea. "Purposeless," he tells it one day. He crouches on a rock; he is a shy creature, even to the sea in all its overwhelming vastness, even to the bleak grey sky. Wind whips his blond hair about his head. A grimace stains his face in this weather. He is weary. Sand has been caught in every crevice of his being, grit beneath his nails. Alas, that this is his life.

Jacob stands. "No," he says, this time to himself. He does not wish to complain, even inwardly, or even to the sea herself. This is but a weaker moment, and he must remove himself from it. The protector of the light of the island may not be exempt from occasional doubt; nevertheless, Jacob knows he must not dwell in those deep recesses of existential depression. No, not even he.

And so he watches them.

They are like a colony of ants. No - they are like a pack of wolves. No, not even wolves. "They are humans," Jacob decides, throwing away all inklings of simile. "They are what they are." This is right and true. And he watches them as such. The human survivors of Flight 815 grope in the darkness for any sliver of hope, but they do not understand what they are doing. They do not know where they are. They build shelters, they give themselves menial tasks, they fix radios. Such denial is so predictable. Jacob cannot fathom the extent of their resolve. He knows naught but the island as home. He truly does not understand the survivors' desire for the lives they had led off the island.

But he almost wants to understand. He watches. He quietly observes. These ones are currently more fascinating to Jacob than his own people, the alleged "Others," a term coined by Rousseau and adopted by the Flight 815 survivors. These people are stubborn, and they are intelligent. They are strong - stronger than Linus thinks. Jacob does not care to share this with Linus, not even through Richard. If Jacob were a painter, this would be his "blue period." He doesn't want to talk to anyone... except for the sea. All he wants to do is watch.

And he wants to watch _her_.

She washes her long brown hair in the ocean, the same ocean to whom he whispers and in whom he confides. Does she detect morsels of Jacob's secrets floating about like soft tendrils of seaweed as she dips her hands in the gentle waves to wash her face? Does his voice carry over water to her ears? He almost wishes it were so, and at the same time he hopes harshly that his fear is unnecessary. He knows the island is magical. He is not at all certain he can tame its powers. In fact, he knows it is likely that he can't.

But it does not hurt him to watch. He turns away from indecency, for he is respectful. But when she is not indisposed, he likes to peer at her eyes, green as olives; and he traces her elbows with his gaze; and he notices how the corners of her mouth deepen when she smiles.

She is the one he most observes. He knows her name; he dares not even think it. He is so distant to her that it feels wrong to pronounce but one single syllable in his own mind. He cannot even trace her name in the sand.

Lunch today is papaya, of course. One cloven fruit rests ready on his wooden plate. His gaze is no longer on _her_ but on the pink flesh of his food. He eats it slowly and with much mindfulness. When he is finished he stares out at the ocean, a common scene to his eyes. Today is the day he, at last, gradually extends his arm to grasp a nearby stick. His fingers slide around it; he lifts it up. The smooth sand before him is a perfect canvas for his thoughts. He carves these thoughts - no: _this_ thought, this single burning word - into the yielding sand.

_Kate_.


	2. Impulse

**Ch. 2**

"Jacob, you need to let me in."

It is Richard. He pushes against the entrance stone to no avail; Jacob has sealed it. Jacob lingers in the glow of his fire, his back to the deep orange flame as he works at his loom. He does not respond to Richard, who continues to thump on the entrance with an urgent fist.

"Jacob!" shouts Richard. "Let me in! This needs to stop. Will you shut out your own people?"

Something in Richard's words agitates the peace of Jacob's mind. His hand stays as he is about to loop the thick yarn, and he lets the yarn fall, turning to the direction of the entrance. Richard continues to thump on the door. Jacob, without one blink, moves to the large entrance stone. He pushes it away with ease; it comes unbound from the gap like magic. Jacob now looks into the irritated face of Richard, who demands, "Well, can I come in now?"

"Do as you please," replies Jacob.

Richard moves past him, never shifting his gaze from Jacob's face. "I just have some news for you, if you're interested." His tone is still displeased.

Jacob lifts a passive hand. "Peace, Richard," he says. At his words Richard's face grows visibly calmer. Jacob goes on, "Please... tell me the news." He is not interested in sharing his own personal devices with Richard at this time. Let the man say his piece and move along.

Richard's chiseled face is illuminated in the orange glow as he looks straight in Jacob's eye. His lips part and he speaks. "Ben has gotten himself captured by the survivors. We're trying to keep an eye on him to see if he is successful, but Shephard and Locke are making that very difficult for us. So I've stationed some people nearby. I don't think anyone has detected them."

"Good."

"But it's been a week and we haven't heard a word from or about Ben. All we know is that Jarrah, Pace, and Dominguez were sent out and found the hot air balloon. Ben must have drawn a map for them."

"I see. What do you plan to do if Ben is harmed?"

"He probably already has been, knowing whose company he's in," replies Richard, thinking of Jarrah, the ex-torturer. "Nevertheless, if something happens to Ben..." Richard's thick brow furrows in thought.

Jacob places a firm hand onto Richard's shoulder. "Nothing will happen to Linus," he says. "He will continue to be in place for as long as we need him. Remember that this island has a mind of its own. Remember," Jacob adds, "that the survivors of Flight 815 are not stronger than the island."

* * *

><p>Jacob has a dream.<p>

_She _is there, risen from the waves like Venus, facing him, arms open at her sides in a gesture of both helplessness and strength. The sea rages around her as she is lifted from a hard rock, hair blowing wildly in the bright and blinding sky. Jacob is frozen on the beach, forced to motionlessness, and he only watches from afar as a slit opens in her throat and bright blood pours down her neck and chest in a waterfall to the ocean, and Jacob only watches as her body curves like a bow and falls sideways into the hungry waves.

Jacob awakens with a coat of cool sweat. His breath is too shallow and he grips his heart as he tries to slowly summon air deeper into his diaphragm. His brow is tightly clenched over his eyes. The dream was so vivid. There are emotions, furious emotions, railing in his mind and soul. He cannot understand this sudden burst; it confuses him, which leaves him only more upset. Over the course of fifteen minutes, Jacob tries to calm himself, but cannot. In earnest he stands from his blankets and grabs the small bag of essentials which he carries when he sets out on various errands. He moves quickly to the entrance, pushes the large stone door out of his way, and exits his home.

He strides through the thick black night, the sand hissing beneath his footsteps. The ocean whispers warnings against such rash actions, but Jacob is not listening. The path to the survivors' camp blazes in his mind's eye. He can see them sleeping, wrapped in clothes and makeshift blankets, blind to the reality that Jacob now sees with eyes unclouded. He quickens his pace.

He cannot banish the vision from his mind. Her throat had gaped open like the red mouth of a hungry carp. His breath becomes shallower as he races fate through the jungle towards their beach. His bag beats against his back, as though also making an attempt to convince Jacob that this is needless, that Kate is fine, that it was merely a dream.

When Jacob is halfway to his destination, his footsteps begin to slow. The thick blanket of woozy disturbance begins to clear from his head, and soon Jacob comes to a full stop. He closes his eyes, from which a few stray tears are given permission to leak. "Jacob, you stupid man," he scolds himself. "This is not the way." He is used to careful planning before every movement; and yet, here he is, in the middle of the jungle, heading towards a fantasy without so much as a farewell to his loom.

Jacob shivers. He is still upset by his dream, by the blood that spilled from Kate's lovely neck, but now his emotions feel like echoes, growing ever softer with time. And yet he is crying!

"What is the matter with me?" Jacob mutters. He turns around and heads back home, thinking how absurd it is that he should be so affected by a girl who does not know he exists.


	3. Lunchbox

**Ch. 3**

How small she was as a child - how delicate - as she strolled, in attempt to be nonchalant, down the drug store aisle. Her head was lowered in order to manipulate her face from being seen. Jacob remembers how quickly, how expertly, her small fingers snatched the lunch box from the shelf. She had not even hesitated. She dropped the box noiselessly into her backpack, which she zipped and hoisted upon her back.

Ah, but the eagerness of a child is shown in the end. Kate, having for the most part accomplished her deed, raced toward the door with her friend with whom she had plotted and carried out the task - only to be abruptly halted by the store manager's firm hand, which, with an accusatory grip, demolished any hope of her escape.

Jacob cannot recall much of the store itself, but he remembers Kate well. She had milkier, softer-looking skin than she does now as a sun-bleached and wind-blown adult. Her chocolate hair tumbled like one smooth ribbon tied back into a ponytail, and even this was different from how Jacob knows her now, for the island has tumbled Kate's hair into that of a wild woman's. But there, in the store when Kate was a child, she was still pure. She had not yet murdered, had not yet been in fear for her life. Jacob watched her then, almost as he watches her now, the only difference being that back then he could have reached out to touch her.

He stood nearby and watched the scene play out. "Open your bag," demanded the manager, nodding toward young Kate's backpack. Kate rolled her eyes as she slid her bag from her shoulder; the manager snatched it away with great haste, and extracted the bright red lunch box from the backpack's depths.

"Mhmm," said the manager. "Where'd you get this?"

"Got it over there," Kate answered, pointing a thumb to the back of the store. She never broke eye contact with the manager as she spoke. Even then, as a thieving kid, she had always possessed a great strength, a strength which Jacob, even then, admired.

"I know you," said the manager then, narrowing his eyes from behind his spectacles. "You're Diane Austen's girl. What's your name?"

"Katie," she responded.

"Well, Katie. I'm calling your mom, and then the cops, because I don't tolerate stealing here, you understand?" He gripped Kate's thin shoulders as he led her back to the counter.

Jacob chose this moment to intervene. He stepped, a phantom of light, from the shadows. "No need to do that," he murmured. "I'll pay for it." Kate pointed her large eyes in curiosity to Jacob's face, and he held out some folded bills to the manager. "Hope this is enough," Jacob said.

The manager took the money. "Well," he grudgingly responded, "as long as somebody pays for it, I guess there's no harm done." He shot a reproachful, slightly judgmental look toward Jacob, but this did not stir the gentle waves of Jacob's mind. Jacob smiled at the man, who then turned to Kate and her friend and scolded, "But I don't ever want to see you in here without your parents again, you understand me?" He handed Jacob the lunch box, glaring at the children. Kate offered a small nod, and the manager disappeared through a door behind the counter.

Katie rolled her eyes at Jacob. They shared this moment together; at this moment, they were allies against a common enemy. They bonded. Jacob handed Kate the lunch box.

"Thanks, mister," said Kate.

"You're welcome," Jacob replied. He knelt down to the young girl's level and looked her straight into her big green eyes. "You're not going to steal anymore, are you?"

Kate paused... and then shook her head, never once breaking her gaze. Jacob reached one hand out and gave her a soft poke on the nose, and Kate broke out into a smile - an honest, sweet, and adorable little smile.

"Be good, Katie."

* * *

><p>Jacob still cannot banish her smile from his mind. Every so often, as he cooks rice over a fire, or as he loops yarn on the loom, or as he washes his hands in the ocean, that one solitary lovely smile of Kate as a child floods his thoughts as though a great dam has broken. That single innocent grin still holds for Jacob as the epitome of purity, of joy.<p>

And he still can feel the softness of her little nose beneath his finger. He stares at the finger now, the small segment of skin that once met with Kate's own. His finger pad hums from the memory. Sometimes the feeling grows too intense, and he must scrape his hands against sand to rid himself of it.

He had not been in love with her as a child, for he had been a grown man, and he has never been interested in such inclinations. But the child grew into the adult creature whom he does not regret looking toward. Now he feels no shame thinking of her brown locks or her freckled cheekbones. She is apart from, and yet still bound to, the child whom Jacob had saved from the wrath of the drug store manager. She still smiles the same sweet smile, and this is all that matters.

When he awakens a few mornings past the night of his bloody dream, Jacob grasps a seed of thought within him, and contemplates this seed as he eats his morning fruit. He feels that he must act somehow, in some way that is good. He mulls over this sudden thought for several moments, chewing on the yellow meat of mango, and reaches what seems to be a very important question.

_Do I love her?_

It is a simple question... and yet, it is monstrously complex. Jacob is not well-equipped to the task of providing an answer to such a fickle inquiry. Still, the question, seeming apt, sticks in his head.

"I love her hands," he answers aloud, but this is but an indirect response that does not adequately resolve the question at hand.

"I love her laugh," he tries again, but this is not good enough either.

"I love her freckles." Avoidance, in a panic, builds a barrier between Jacob and the truth.

"I love her bravery." Silly, silly.

_This is folly,_ Jacob thinks to himself. _If I cannot answer one simple question, how can I lead the people on the island to their destinies? How can I lead at all?_ Jacob scratches a doodle into the beach sand with a twig. He will not meet his eyes to the sea, which hisses and spits at him, urging him to uncover his own mind. But Jacob is frightened of his own mind; he has never felt more untamed by himself in all his life.

_You foolish man, _he thinks. _Do you, or do you not, love her?_

Jacob looks up all of a sudden, his glare firm and resolved. He meets the gaze of the ocean and all its violence, all its beauty, all its truth. His blond hair whips about his head as he utters the answer that destroys every defense against it: "Yes. I love her."

_Then go to her._


	4. Shiver

**Ch. 4**

Jacob, being as cautious as he is in most aspects of life, applies such philosophy tenfold as he plans and ponders a way to come to a physical meeting with Kate. He is nervous. He draws notes in the wet sand, notes which are washed away with each breaking wave - but this does not matter, for all cognitive actions are tucked securely in Jacob's mind. The doodling is a simple reflex. He calculates all possible outcomes, all routes, all paths… before coming to one conclusion. And so, three afternoons after Jacob admitted to himself his love for Kate, he summons Richard.

This time when Richard thumps on the stone door, Jacob greets him in a more regular fashion, meeting the man face-to-face and with warmth in his hands as he rests them onto Richard's shoulders.

Richard gives a somewhat puzzled smile. "Hello Jacob," he says.

"Hello, Richard," Jacob replies with his head tilted, as is Jacob's usual implication that he is in a good mood.

"I just came from the jungle," Richard tells him. "Michael has set Ben free. I met Ben in the jungle on my way here, as a matter of fact. He told me that Michael did as we told him to. Ana Lucia was the one guarding Ben, and she's dead."

"I see," Jacob responds patiently. He is aware of these facts, but he will allow Richard to continue; it is better that nobody know everything about Jacob, including that he can watch the Others and the survivors of flight 815 from afar.

"The unfortunate effect of this is that Michael shot someone innocent. Libby. She wasn't important to us, but…" Richard's voice trails off. After a pause, he picks up, "Ben is making his way back now. Michael will have to carry the story from now on. He shot himself in the shoulder, to make it look like Ben had the gun."

"Richard," Jacob cuts in. "This is good news. But it's not why I asked for you."

Richard, his eyes glossy in the light of Jacob's indoor fire, stares.

"Come," said Jacob. "Let's walk."

Today's weather is chilled and seems to be on the brink of a storm. Deep navy-blue clouds frame the horizon in a threat to approach the island. Every so often, one can even hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. If the storm is to hit, it shall probably not take more than a few hours to arrive. In the meantime, the ocean shivers, and hairline of grass that divides the trees from the beach hisses and bends in a confrontational wind. Jacob and Richard walk along this line, caught between sand and jungle, sea and wilderness. Their shoulders are hunched to combat the wind. Their hands have been put in their pockets. They look down at the ground in front of them as they walk along. They have been speaking for about ten minutes now.

"I don't quite understand, Jacob," Richard says, his thick brow furrowed. "Austen means what to you, exactly?"

Jacob privately admits to himself that his end of the conversation thus far has not proven to be very clear. He decides to resolve this matter. "I am in love with her, Richard," he says, looking up at his friend for the first time since they exited his home.

Richard stops walking. He is staring at Jacob, his mouth forming a small O. His eyes rapidly search Jacob's face for any hint of deceit or jest, but Jacob's expression is lined with raw honesty. Richard's general perspective of Jacob now shifts. Here Jacob stands, head slightly tilted, eyes crinkled against the wind, blond scruff mingled with sand. All of a sudden he looks, to Richard, like a foolish yet truly smitten young man. In reality, of course, Jacob is not young - as a matter of fact, there is no promise that he is not older than Richard himself. Yet here is this childish nature being exposed all at once, and it leaves Richard unsettled.

"You're in love with her." Richard knows how this feels, of course. It has been unmeasurable ages since Richard has felt his own wife's soft skin against his own. And yet, he is perturbed. After a long pause, Richard asks, "Why did you ask for me to come here, Jacob?"

Jacob blinks. "I would like for you to bring her to me," he responds in an even tone. He looks Richard directly in the eyes. When Richard opens his mouth, possibly to protest, Jacob overpowers him by adding, "I am the leader of this island. Please do as I ask you."

Richard's mouth closes. Jacob can feel something break in their friendship when Richard's face hardens as he answers, "Of course. I'll have her here tonight. Do you want her conscious?"

Jacob stares at Richard; this question was intended to condescend, and Jacob never replies to such an attitude.

Richard lets out a short exhale. "Fine," he says, and disappears into the jungle.

* * *

><p>Anticipation creeps into the evening as Jacob passes time by performing mundane tasks. He pokes at the healthy fire, he straightens up his loom work area, he goes outside to retrieve caught fish from his trap. Knowing he must have something to offer Kate in a gesture of friendship, he takes these fish and, when the sky has darkened almost to its full extent, begins to slowly cook them over his fire.<p>

_What will I say to her?_ he wonders. He has not prepared for this, as he figures he now ought.

_Start with hello. _Yes, this is as good a beginning as any. Bright yellow sparks jet into the air as Jacob pokes too hard at a fish. _And what then? Should I break down before her? No, she will laugh at me, or think I'm insane. _In truth, Jacob knows very little about Kate's social personality. Is she easy to disgust, to agitate? Or is she calm, like Jacob? How should he act toward her in order to avoid a negative reception?

_Treat her like a human._ But is the capture of an innocent woman from her established residence evidence that Jacob wishes to treat her like a human, like an equal? She will resent him automatically simply for the fact that he has captured her. He must come up with a good reason. But what reason exists? Should he lie - claim that she was in great danger, and he is taking her in to protect her?

_I did have that dream. _Jacob shivers, the dream still poignant in his mind. He can still smell the blood pouring from dream-Kate's neck. The raw quality of Jacob's emotions have endured even to this evening - should he manipulate them, weave them into a thin web of deceit with which to shroud his own desire?

When Jacob notices his quickened heartbeat, he banishes these thoughts from his mind. He decides that he will be calm on this night, and more than this, he trusts that when the time comes that Kate asks him why she is here, he will know what to say.

No sooner has Jacob resolved the inner matter at hand than the scrape of the stone door is heard, followed by a woman's panicked, muffled voice. Jacob, who has had his back to the entrance, turns around to see Richard gripping no one other than Kate herself by the shoulders, a strip of cloth bound about her mouth and eyes. She tries to speak and protest, but her words are incomprehensible from within the gag. Richard leads Kate toward the fire, and lets go of her. Immediately Kate starts, leaping to her feet in attempt to escape, but Jacob shouts, "Be still!"

At the tone of a new voice, Kate freezes.

"You will step into the fire if you try to run," Jacob reasoned. "You can't see, Kate." He feels lightheaded speaking to her. He turns to Richard. "You may go." Richard makes haste to leave them be.

Jacob stares at the woman before him. He cannot see much of her face for the binding cloth, but her mouse-brown hair is wild about her head, and her slender frame glows in the firelight. Jacob cannot believe that she, a dream, a fantasy from afar, stands before him now. She is now making an attempt to release her wrists from their binds. Jacob walks over to her, touches her on the shoulder. His hand quivers as he does so. Sweat has begun to form on his forehead and upper lip. "Please," he whispers, "sit down. I won't hurt you." He gently pushes her down to a kneeling position.

Kate snaps something angrily back to him, but he can't understand her. "Please, let me explain," Jacob urges. His hand is still on her small shoulder; he cannot bring himself to lift it. He feels as though her warmth and strength is being soaked up by his own hand, channeled through her shoulder. She tries to jerk away from him, but this proves to be difficult because of her restraints and Jacob's arm strength, which presses into her shoulder without doubt. All of a sudden Kate whirls her body sideways - and kicks Jacob's feet out from under him. Jacob's hand is released from Kate's shoulder, and he comes crashing to the ground. "Please!" begs of her, but Kate is on her feet. She stamps a single foot onto Jacob's chest - even for this morsel of touch, Jacob is strangely grateful. Kate stands above him, a goddess illuminated by fire.

However, Jacob cannot allow her to control him. He rips himself out from under her foot, making her stumble. He quickly stands up, and grabs Kate by the shoulders before she can beat him down again. "Listen to me," he tells her, "I can explain why you've been brought here. No harm is going to come to you. I am not one of the Others."

"Vmm mf hummf rrmm!" Kate shouts into his face. Even through the gag, Jacob can understand this one sentence.

With a gentle hand, Jacob reaches toward her face and releases the binds, which slide away as though they never were. Kate's furious and frightened green eyes pierce him and she demands again, with a clear voice, "Then who are you?" Her eyes search Jacob's face for any hint of familiarity. His heart lowers deep into the trenches of his gut as he realizes that Kate does not recognize him.

"Please, sit down," he insists, masking his heartbreak. "I will explain everything."

"Untie my hands," Kate shoots back.

"I need you to stay here, Kate," Jacob says. "Richard, and several of my other friends, are outside. They will catch you again if you run out of here." This is a lie, of course. But his whole body tingles with the knowledge that he is speaking, conversing, with her. He keeps searching her neck for any hint of a cut; there is none. Her neck is smooth as ever.

"Why?" she demands. "Why am I here? Who are you?"

Jacob takes a deep breath. He must begin somewhere. "I am Jacob," he says, "and I have been watching you."


End file.
